


walk, walk, fashion baby

by blackkat



Series: Silly SakuOro AUs [9]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, Innuendo, M/M, So much flirting oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Sakumo loses a bet and has to cover the fashion beat for a week. It's not nearly the trial he expected it to be.





	walk, walk, fashion baby

“ _What_?” Sakumo asks, barely keeping the dismay out of his voice.

Hiruzen doesn’t even do him the service of looking up from his magazine. “I said, you’ll be covering fashion this week. The city’s most prominent designer just announced a new collection, and agreed to an interview.”

Sakumo heard him the first time, unfortunately. That doesn’t actually change his response at all. “I'm a _journalist_ , not a—a _gossip_ ,” he protests. “There's a protest for the right to garden in public spaces—”

“Tenzō took that one,” Hiruzen interrupts. “Vigilante gardening is all the rage right now, apparently.”

“The new aquarium is opening—”

“Aoba's boyfriend is a marine biologist who works with sharks there, so he volunteered.”

“That exhibit on Konoha's history at the museum—”

“If you want to fistfight Koharu for her beat, please, be my guest.”

Even in the depths of his current despair, Sakumo isn’t _that_ desperate. Danzō tried to muscle in on a museum story once, and now all Koharu has to do is look at him to make him flinch. He winces, backpedaling, and tries valiantly, “The city council meeting on the new infrastructure initiative?”

Finally, the magazine dips, only for Hiruzen to level a look at Sakumo over the top of it. “Are you actually volunteering for _Danzō’s_ job?” he asks, managing to fit reproof and incredulity into the words at the same time. “Really, Sakumo.”

“I don’t know anything about fashion,” Sakumo defends, if a bit weakly. “Mei usually covers it.”

The magazine comes back up. “Then you shouldn’t have taken her bet when you knew the stakes,” Hiruzen says mildly. “I only know one person who can outdrink her, and it’s certainly not you.”

That was, Sakumo will admit, a momentary lapse of judgement, and a futile attempt to keep up with the younger generation via shooting himself in the foot. He’s really regretting it now. Mei gets to cover the mayoral debate for the upcoming election, and he gets stuck with _clothes_. This is going to be a trying week.

“The interview is already set?” he asks with a sigh, giving up. There's no way Mei will let him wiggle out of their bet, but she’s also going to have to help him write up his interview questions if she doesn’t want this to be a disaster. Well. More of a disaster.

Hiruzen hides his smirk, though not overly well. “It is. Wednesday at noon, at the designer’s studio. I had Iruka leave the details on your desk. Kakashi will be your photographer for the day.”

At least Sakumo won't have to suffer alone; he knows for a fact Kakashi was hoping to get assigned to the protest this week. “Which photographer is covering the march?”

“Gai.” Hiruzen turns a page, apparently bored of this conversation.

There will be _extra_ suffering, since Kakashi lost the assignment to his rival. Maybe it makes Sakumo a bad father, but he smiles cheerfully regardless, pleased to hear that fact. “If this all goes down in flames, it’s not my fault,” he warns.

Hiruzen snorts. “Somehow,” he says dryly, “I feel that you and Orochimaru will get along just fine.”

Before Sakumo can ask what the hell _that_ means—and why Hiruzen doesn’t just do the interview himself, editor or not, if he actually knows that designer personally—there's a sharp rap against the door, and it swings open before Hiruzen can even open his mouth. Koharu stalks through, extra-large coffee clutched like a weapon in one hand. Instantly, Hiruzen dives to hide his magazine, or maybe hide under his desk, Sakumo can't quite tell.

Koharu leans over the desk, fishes him out, and drags him back up by the ear as he yelps. “Saru,” she says, with all the polite disapproval of her upper-class breeding brought to bear. “You gave _Homura_ the Uzumaki-Senju wedding? I went to school with Tōka and you gave the scoop to _Homura_? He doesn’t even know the difference between couture and _cabbage_.”

Hiruzen pales, and Sakumo decides this is a very good time to relocate. He ducks out of the office, letting the door fall shut gently behind him. The bullpen is mostly empty, though Sakumo is fairly certain he can see Torifu asleep behind his desk, and Danzō is hunched over his computer, muttering curses at local politicians. The only other person present is Kakashi, sprawled in Sakumo's chair with his feet up on Sakumo's desk.

“Fashion beat?” he asks unhappily, tipping his head back.

“Fashion beat,” Sakumo agrees with a sigh, then knocks Kakashi’s boots down with a hand. “Cheer up, cub, it will be just like old times.”

“You mean when you dragged me to work because you couldn’t find a babysitter?” Kakashi asks dryly.

“When I dragged you to work because you terrorized every babysitter in the city to the point that they blocked my number,” Sakumo corrects, equally dry. “Those would be the times I'm referring to, yes.”

Kakashi looks entirely unrepentant. With a roll of his eyes, Sakumo tips his son out of his chair, ignoring the protests, and settles in, dragging his notebook closer. He may as well be professional about this, even if all he wants is to beg Mei to reconsider the stakes of their bet.

“Snooty models and ridiculous unwearable clothes,” Kakashi laments, pulling himself up off the ground to lean on the back of Sakumo's chair. “ _All day._ I hate my job.”

“Only when you're not getting the assignments you want,” Sakumo points out, though he doesn’t precisely disagree.

Kakashi gives him a smile that’s entirely bullshit, and he doesn’t even try to hide it the way Sakumo normally does. “Maybe next time you could think twice before letting Mei clean you out,” he says, lazy but pointed.

“I wasn’t trying to clean him out, I was trying to get his clothes off,” Mei says breezily, sailing past them towards her desk with her eyes still on her phone. “Your father is the hottest piece of ass in this building, Kakashi, and if you don’t think I'm going to try my best to tap that you’re delusional.”

Kakashi chokes, trips, and almost brains himself on the corner of the desk as he leaps away from her like a scalded cat, and cries, “ _Mei_!”

Sakumo groans and buries his face in his hands, trying to hide his red cheeks as Mei laughs wickedly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her open her mouth again, and says with an edge of desperation, “Mei, this designer. What should I know?”

“Orochimaru?” Mei casts him an amused glance, but she props her hip against the edge of his desk and gives the question her full attention. “I couldn’t tell you, sorry. He only recently relocated here from Oto. This interview is the first one he’s given.” Her smile takes on a sly slant, and she leans over and plants a showy kiss on his cheek. “No pressure, handsome.”

“Hands off,” Kakashi orders, tugging her away by the back of her belt. “At least wait until I'm out of the _room_.”

“Jealous?” Mei asks sweetly.

Kakashi pauses, looking at her expression warily, and then says, “That question has no good answer and you know it.”

“Why do you think I asked it?”

Rolling his eyes at the pair of them, Sakumo turns on his computer, rubbing a trace of crimson lipstick off his cheek. If nothing else, an internet search should give him the basics, and with a lot less embarrassment than relying on Mei.

 

 

“Smile,” Sakumo reminds his son, eyeing the door across the street. The studio is small and neat, with a weathered brick exterior and a long window that looks into a neat reception area. The only way to tell that they're in the right place is the small wooden sign above the door, bearing the name _Sannin_ , which Sakumo is slightly surprised about; he’d been expecting something…gaudier.

“I _am_ smiling,” Kakashi says mildly, and it’s possibly even true, but he has his scarf pulled up to cover the bottom half of his face and Sakumo can't tell for certain. “And even if I wasn’t, you do enough smiling for both of us.”

“A little courtesy never hurt anyone,” Sakumo says firmly, ignores Kakashi’s skeptical sound, and checks the street before he starts across it. The studio’s door opens easily, the bell above it chiming once, and at the sound the beautiful blond woman behind the desk glances up from her computer, raising a brow.

“Hello,” Sakumo says politely. “We’re from _The Konoha Chronicle_ , here for an interview with Orochimaru? I'm Sakumo Hatake, and this is my photographer, Kakashi.”

The woman’s other brow rises to match the first, and she looks Sakumo over thoroughly but without a trace of interest, then rises to her feet. “Tsunade Senju, I take care of public relations and the business side of things.”

Her handshake is a lot firmer than Sakumo was expecting, but not enough to distract him from the name. Hashirama Senju is one of the candidates for mayor, and currently in the lead. She’s likely part of his family, and—

Firmly, Sakumo drags his mind off of politics, because no matter what he would rather be writing this interview is _important_ , and Mei impressed that upon him several times. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says.

Tsunade smiles, and it’s a little perfunctory but still warm. “Likewise. Orochimaru is just finishing up a test shoot in the back, if you’ll follow me.”

She turns away without waiting for a response, snagging a handful of forms from the printer as she passes and leading the way down a short hall, then through a white door. The room on the other side is wide open and full of light, all exposed brick and glass. Long tables with sewing machines and bolts of cloth cover half of it, while a low runway takes up part of the remaining room. A man with long white hair is taking pictures, calling cheerful instructions to the pair of models twisted together on the platform.

Sakumo will admit it takes him a moment to realize what he’s seeing. One of the models is muscular and taller than the other, wearing a backless black dress with long strands of pearls draping down to the low waist, with tall heels and heavy, dramatic makeup. The other is in a white suit with black lapels, a flash of golden chain across the front of the jacket, and heavy black boots. A white hat is tipped at a rakish angle, set over blue hair, and—

“Come on, sweetheart, give me a smile,” the photographer says with what looks like a cheerful leer. “Show me a bit more skin, all right?”

The model in the backless dress turns from the other, and Sakumo blinks, entirely caught off guard. It’s a man, with stark scars across one half of his face, and the other model is a woman, handsome and sharp-eyed, who leans forward, halfway pushing her companion back until the arch of his spine is obvious and entirely bare of anything but the drape of pearls, then tilting his head up. He gives her a smirk, arching a brow, and the expression on her face is hungry—

“All right, got it. We’re done for today.” The photographer steps back, turning to grin at Tsunade as she approaches to speak quietly with him, and instantly every trace of sexual tension vanishes from the air.

“Oh thank _god_ ,” the man says, untangling himself from the woman. She manages to make it to her feet first and offers him a hand, and he takes it, letting her haul him up as he balances easily in his six-inch heels.

“Finally,” the woman agrees, pulling a face, and carefully takes her hat off. She casts a look at the man and asks, “Your ankle?”

“Less bruised than my dignity,” he says wryly, and twists like he’s stretching out his back. “Pervert, I swear, you _like_ to put us in the most uncomfortable positions possible.”

The dress is slit up the side, and there's a hell of a lot of thigh now on display. Normally Sakumo wouldn’t so much as blink, because the boy’s far too young and not his type, but—

He’s fairly certain he hears Kakashi _whimper_.

Before he can turn and level an incredulous look at his son, though, the sharp clack of footsteps sounds, and a smooth voice asks, “You're the reporters from the _Chronicle_? Forgive me, I didn’t realize we were running late.”

Sakumo turns, and immediately has far more sympathy for Kakashi as he’s suddenly blindsided by long raven hair, pale skin, and easily the most beautiful face he’s ever seen, complete with heavy purple eyeshadow and burning golden eyes.

It takes effort to swallow, and not just step back and cede ground. The speaker is shorter and slimmer than Sakumo, but there's a sharp intensity to his presence, and on anyone else Sakumo might laugh at thigh-high leather boots and a shirt with such a deep V-neck that it’s practically indecent, barely covered by a dark blue jacket lined in pale violet, but—

Well. He looks bewilderingly hot in those clothes, and no offense to his fashion sense but Sakumo is sure he’d look even hotter out of them.

“It’s not a problem,” he assures the stranger, and it’s something of a miracle that he doesn’t trip over his own tongue. “I think we’re a little early, as well.”

The man smiles, and it makes warmth curl deep in Sakumo's stomach. When he holds out a hand, Sakumo takes it, and his grip is callused and firm. It lingers, too, as he sweeps a look over Sakumo, and then over Kakashi.

“I'm Orochimaru,” he says, and amusement flickers across his features as he glances back at Kakashi. “Would you like me to introduce you?” he asks, somehow polite but pointed, and Sakumo has to hide a grin behind one hand.

Kakashi tips his nose up, the way he does when he’s embarrassed but trying to hide it. “I need to get a few shots, if you don’t mind,” he says, like that’s the only reason he keeps casting glances at the model in the black dress.

Orochimaru’s smile slips sideways into a smirk, and he arches a brow at Sakumo, who grins back. “I think that can be arranged. Obito, Konan?”

The models look over, only just seeming to notice their audience. “Yes?” the woman asks politely.

“Would one of you be willing to stay and assist the journalists here with getting a few photos for the paper?” Orochimaru asks, and Sakumo's breath catches just a little as golden eyes slide back to him. Orochimaru looks him over again, and unless Sakumo s _very_ mistaken there's interest in his eyes. “I believe I'm going to be occupied with Mister…?”

“Hatake,” Sakumo supplies. “Sakumo Hatake. And this is my son, Kakashi.”

Konan and Obito glance at each other, and after a moment of silent debate Konan shakes her head. “I have to get to class,” she says.

“I’ll stay,” Obito volunteers with a shrug, and carefully steps down off the catwalk. “The light’s shifting, though. The back garden might be better.”

“Won't you get cold?” Kakashi asks, only a little strangled, but he steps away from Sakumo's side and waits for Obito to join him.

With a scoff, Obito catches his elbow, and Sakumo can _see_ Kakashi’s ears go red. “What kind of photographer isn’t a sadistic asshole who likes to watch people shiver?” he demands. “I think you're in the wrong business.”

“My business,” Kakashi says pointedly, “is at least more exciting than _wearing clothes._ ”

Sakumo groans, because _of course_ Kakashi would default to that for a first interaction.

“Oh, so you regularly prance into work naked?” Obito retorts, thankfully not missing a beat. “I didn’t realize journalism was so raunchy. Clearly I'm missing out.”

At his side, Orochimaru makes a quiet sound of amusement. “I think they’ll get on well,” he says, and with that smirk Sakumo can't tell whether he means it or is just being sarcastic. “But seeing as they’ll be occupying the garden, perhaps we should go upstairs and talk in my office.”

It’s probably entirely Sakumo's imagination that makes that sound like an invitation for…other things.

“Wherever you're comfortable,” he assures Orochimaru, trying not to let his preoccupation with the fall of Orochimaru’s hair and the deep neckline of his shirt show too obviously. “And thank you again for taking the time. I appreciate it.”

“Truly, it’s my pleasure.” Orochimaru chuckles, deep and warm, and leads the way out of the studio and up a flight of stairs. There are more windows here, and Sakumo admires the play of light on night-dark hair as it sways.

“Are you a model?” his mouth blurts before his brain can check it. Not that it might help, given the hypnotizing movement of Orochimaru’s legs in those boots. “Or—were you, I mean. Before this.”

Orochimaru casts a glance over his shoulder that’s almost startled. “A model?” he asks, like he can't understand why this is a question. Like it’s _confusing_. “Briefly, but I was not received well. I started this particular fashion house for models who do not fit the standards of beauty that the industry has constructed.”

Sakumo remembers Obito's scars, Konan’s broader build than the stick-thin women he had expected. Looks at Orochimaru, and his almost unsettling sort of beauty, on the edge of too much.

“That’s admirable,” he says quietly. “But anyone who looked at you and didn’t think you were beautiful, regardless of anything else, was an idiot.”

On the landing, Orochimaru pauses, turns to meet Sakumo's gaze. His expression is assessing, careful, and he studies Sakumo for a moment and then smiles, sly and a little wicked. “Tell me, Sakumo,” he murmurs, stepping forward to trail a finger down the buttons on Sakumo's shirt. “Do you compliment every fashion designer you interview like this? Or should I consider myself special?”

That’s _definitely_ a light of interest in his golden eyes, and Sakumo can't resist. He reaches up, catching Orochimaru’s hand, and raises it to his lips to kiss his fingers. They’re pale and cool, long and graceful, and Sakumo glances up to hold Orochimaru’s gaze and smiles, as charming as he can possibly make it. “Well, seeing as you're my first, I couldn’t say. Special seems like an apt word, though.”

“Your first?” Orochimaru purrs, and takes another step into Sakumo's space, tilting his head. The light catches on heavy earrings, deep blue stone that makes his hair look even darker. “I'm honored. Hopefully we can make it as…painless as possible.” His other hand comes up to tease one of Sakumo's buttons, _almost_ sliding it through the hole, and his smirk is wicked as he looks up at Sakumo through long lashes.

“I don’t mind a bit of hard work when the outcome is promising,” Sakumo returns, more than a little breathless. He’s dizzy with want, with a desire he hasn’t felt so strongly in _years_.

“That in itself sounds _very_ promising,” Orochimaru tells him, then hooks a finger in his shirt and pulls him the last few inches closer. “Tell me, Sakumo, how exactly do you prefer your interviews to go? Strictly business? Or more…hands on?”

It’s pretty hard to misconstrue that, so Sakumo allows himself to touch, lays a hand against Orochimaru’s ribs and lets it slide down to his waist. “I’m open to suggestions,” he says lightly. “You being my first and all. I've been told I take instructions _very_ well.”

Orochimaru’s laugh curls like velvet across his skin, even as one long-fingered hand loops around the back of Sakumo's neck and urges him down. The kiss entirely steals Sakumo's breath, sends heat like a tidal wave singing through his veins. It’s _maddeningly_ brief, barely a glancing pass of lips with an edge of teeth behind them, but it’s still enough to leave Sakumo reeling, and Orochimaru looks more than a little breathless as well.

“Well,” Orochimaru murmurs, almost against his mouth, “I suppose I won't have to worry about the article painting me in a bad light.”

“I'm fully bribable,” Sakumo confirms, and it’s entirely impossible to make it anything less than cheerful. “Dinner, or lunch, or coffee, or even just another kiss, and I'm more than willing to sing your praises.”

“Dastardly,” Orochimaru says, clearly amused, and takes a step back. He touches the edge of Sakumo's tied-back hair, sweeps a touch over his cheek, across his throat, and trails his long golden nails ever so lightly down his chest. “I must say, if I’d known reporters were as charming and handsome as you seem to be, I would have agreed to an interview sooner. Though your taste in clothes could use a little work.”

“I'm selfishly glad you didn’t,” Sakumo admits, and then, because Orochimaru is looking up at him and Sakumo truly can't resist, “I don’t think such things would look nearly as good on me as they do on you, lovely.”

Orochimaru snorts. “Everyone looks good in black leather,” he says dismissively, and sweeps a look over him. “Though if I try to change your outfit now I fear I’ll get distracted halfway through.”

“That would be a true tragedy,” Sakumo offers, dry as dust, and means it, even if it was partly for the laugh it earns him.

 

 

Sakumo meets Kakashi in the lobby several hours later, avoiding Tsunade's amused and knowing eyes, looking more than a little ruffled and feeling entirely too pleased with himself.

In contrast, Kakashi looks like he got into a fistfight.

For a long moment, Sakumo eyes his son, then offers with amusement, “Hiruzen is going to skin you if you got mud in that camera.”

“The camera’s fine,” Kakashi says as breezily as he can with a massively puffy split lip. “I got the pictures, can we go now?”

“You dropped his card,” Sakumo informs his son dryly, and Kakashi does his best to pretend his ears aren’t shading red as he turns around, scoops the piece of cardstock up off the ground, and stuffs it into his jacket pocket.

“Yes, well, at least my tie isn’t crooked,” he says, like he has any right at all to a judgmental look right now.

Unrepentant, Sakumo smiles at Tsunade and holds the door open for his son to precede him out onto the street. “Are you still regretting this assignment?”

“Absolutely,” Kakashi swears, but Sakumo knows him too well for the lie to hold water. He just hums skeptically, and Kakashi ignores him pointedly.

There’s a familiar face approaching down the street when they turn to find the subway. Mei is practically jogging, a rarity when she normally spends most of her time sauntering everywhere, and Sakumo raises a brow at her as she gets closer.

“Mei?” he asks. “Is something wrong?”

Last time Sakumo saw a smile like that, a tiger was wearing it. “Wrong? Oh, absolutely not. But I'm going to need your help on blowing this story wide open, handsome. It just got a hell of a lot bigger.”

That’s a bit of a surprise, seeing as Sakumo was under the impression that election was mostly decided already. “What happened?”

Mei takes his arm, just for the ability to tug him towards the subway even faster. “You’ll never guess who I caught making out on their desk.”

“Hiruzen and Danzō?” Kakashi asks dryly. “Because that’s not a scoop, that’s a day that ends in Y.”

Mei makes a rude, dismissive sound. “Not _them_ , it was _Hashirama and Madara_.”

The two main candidates. _Making out_. _During_ the election. That’s one of the best things Sakumo has heard since Orochimaru started laughing. “Please tell me you got pictures,” he says desperately.

Pulling her phone out of her purse, Mei brandishes it at him, then shoves it into Kakashi’s hands. “For you,” she says sweetly.

“You give me the best presents,” Kakashi tells her.

Mei laughs. “So, how about we talk about it over drinks?” she asks, giving Sakumo a wink. “Work out all the angles we could take in a late-night meeting?”

“Not tonight,” Sakumo tells her, only a little regretfully. “I have a date.”

Mei’s eyes widen, and she grins. “Oh, _really_? One you’d pick over this story?”

Sakumo glances back at the building they just left, not quite able to help himself. Through the wide window, he can just make out a slim figure with long dark hair, and it makes him smile.

“This is your story,” he reminds Mei. “I've got another I'm working on right now.”

“Don’t have too much fun,” Mei warns him, but she’s smiling, and Sakumo smiles in return.

The next time he glances back, Orochimaru’s eyes catch his, and Sakumo tells her, “No promises.”


End file.
